


Politely Ignored

by nylux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, Insecure Sherlock, M/M, POV John Watson, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 12:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7715017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nylux/pseuds/nylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected deduction about Mrs. Hudson's love life sets things in motion for Sherlock and John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Politely Ignored

It's 11 a.m. on a Friday and John is having his first breakfast of the week. After fourteen hours of undisturbed sleep he is looking forward to a quiet weekend. It had been a good case: a bit of chase, a bit of gore, a lot of praise for Sherlock and a pay cheque that would allow them to spend the rest of the year in sunny Tuscany. Not that this is a realistic option with Sherlock.

At the moment, however, the detective sitting across from him at the kitchen table does not seem to be in a hurry to dive into the next case. Rather, he is digging into the hearty breakfast that John has prepared for both of them. Watching Sherlock eat is special to John. It makes him happy for a reason that he does not quite understand. It's not that Sherlock never eats, or that he does not enjoy eating. A man who cannot sit still for five seconds needs a lot of calories. Sherlock probably would disagree with this and mutter something about not indulging into anything that goes beyond the absolute minimum that is necessary to sustain the transport. John tries hard not to smile at the Sherlock in his head. And fails. 

"Anything the matter?" Sherlock asks. "Why are you smiling?" 

"Oh, nothing in particular." John replies somewhat too quickly. "It was a nice case, wasn't it? Just like old times." 

John immediately regrets the last remark. Sherlock's eyes flash up for a moment but he does not seem to want to dwell on the past either. 

"Yes indeed. It was quite satisfactory. Will you put it on the blog?" 

"Sure, if it's okay for you." John says. "What do you think about _The Adventure of the Stewed Furuncle_? And by the way, I do hope all the pots I used for making this breakfast have been disinfected by you as promised."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Only you could come up with such an imbecilic title. I am sure your readers are going to love it. And you should not make such a fuss about the pots. You know perfectly well the sanitizing effect of cooking."

John just smiles and shakes his head. Sherlock is right. The pots certainly have seen worse. And Sherlock's idea to lure that cannibalistic lunatic into Baker Street was just too brilliant, abuse of kitchenware notwithstanding.

Footsteps on the stairs announce the imminent arrival of their landlady. Sherlock, whose back is to the kitchen door, turns as Mrs. Hudson enters the flat.

"Ah, good morning Mrs. Hudson. I suppose your night with Mr. Chatterjee was a satisfactory one." Sherlock blurts out. 

"Sherlock!!" both Mrs. Hudson and John stare at Sherlock in disbelief. John makes a mental note to stop staring in disbelief every time Sherlock exhibits typical behaviour.

Mrs. Hudson seems to be the first to find words. "How did you get this idea anyway?" Then she stops short, some kind of realization hitting her. "No, wait. Don't tell me. I am not in the mood for one of your deductions right now."

"I heard you." Sherlock remarks. "Your living room is below my bedroom."

"Sherlock..." John tries in his most threatening voice. He guesses the effect falls flat, given that he feels his face turn crimson.

Indeed, there is no stopping Sherlock now. "Really, Mrs. Hudson, at your age one might think you would appreciate the comfort of a bed. With your hip and..."

Mrs. Hudson's stern "Enough now!" finally shuts Sherlock up. "I don't mind you knowing but there are certain things you politely ignore and do not throw into the face of the person who only came up to ask you if you were interested in some freshly baked biscuits. I certainly would be more discreet if I were to overhear something from this flat." 

John sighs. "Like this is ever going to happen." By the time he notices the shell-shocked stares from both his landlady and his detective, John knows he has made a terrible mistake. He did not realize he'd said that out loud. Sherlock is still staring at him, blinking rapidly, mouth half open. 

Mrs. Hudson decides to make a hasty escape. "Well, I'd better go back downstairs. If you'd like some biscuits you know where to find me."

After Mrs. Hudson has left the kitchen John takes a deep breath. Time for some damage control. He looks at Sherlock who seems to be slowly recovering from his stasis. 

"No need to be alarmed, Sherlock." John tries his best to sound calm and reasonable, which turns out to be rather challenging. "I was not making a pass at you. I was merely commenting on the fact that the only person getting laid in this house is our 79-year-old landlady."

"Well, this is hardly my fault, is it?" Sherlock all but shouts.

What?! "Sherlock, what the hell is that supposed to mean?" John is confused. This was decidedly not the response he had expected from Sherlock. 

Sherlock averts his eyes and gets up from the table, almost knocking off his tea cup. "Nothing. I, ah ... , will go and get those biscuits." And with that the detective makes a dramatic exit from the flat. 

John sinks back into his chair. This was an unexpected turn of events. John is not sure what has just happened. The front door clicks shut. Sherlock will not come back with biscuits anytime soon. John quickly reminds himself that it is a warm sunny day and that Sherlock was wearing trousers and a shirt and (hopefully) shoes. This means that at least he won't get a call from Greg about a man in pyjamas and a dressing gown running around barefoot in Regent's park. At least one complication avoided this morning. 

So much for a quiet day. It seems like some serious thinking is in order. He fills his cup with the leftover breakfast tea and moves to his chair in the sitting room. Staring at the empty chair facing him, he wonders what Sherlock meant by _it_ not being his fault. In their early days John certainly did blame Sherlock when he could not keep any of his girlfriends long enough to get a leg over. But, in hindsight, he should not even have blamed Sherlock back then. And really, this was ages ago. All this happened _before_. John has not been on a date since _after_. He has known for awhile why this is the case. Contrary to common belief he is not an idiot. What John does not know is whether Sherlock has picked up on it and what his opinion about the matter is. Given how indispensable their friendship is to John, he has always considered the stakes to be too high to attempt to change the status quo. And now? John's stupid comment and Sherlock's reaction have set something in motion, for better or for worse. 

John tries to convince himself that mulling over the issue won't be of any use for now. After all, Sherlock is the big unknown in the equation. Before he comes back, nothing can be done. John decides that it is best to go on with his relaxing day and runs himself a bath. No better way to shut off unpleasant thoughts and worries. Only today this does not work at all for John. He is soaking in the scented water and finds that he is downright nervous about the things to come.

When John emerges from the bathroom in his dressing gown he finds Sherlock on the sofa, eyes closed, in his characteristic thinking pose. John is trying to gather his courage to say something. Moments pass. John is standing in the middle of the sitting room staring at Sherlock. He is at a loss about what to do next. His mind is blank. Suddenly, Sherlock jumps up from the sofa, plants himself in front of John and stares down at him with those inquisitive eyes. 

"John, what did you mean when you said _Like this is ever going to happen_?" 

John is caught off-guard and goes into full deflection mode without thinking. "Well, Sherlock, you should not need to ask this question after having chased away every single girl I ever brought here."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Really? John. As if that was my fault - and you know that very well. And, by the way, you have not been on a date for months." 

Well then, deflection did not do the trick. So John goes for a counter-attack. "And what did you mean then when you said that this was not your fault?"

Sherlock briefly looks away before continuing to stare him down. "Nothing. I just wanted to remark that it is hardly my fault that you are obviously sexually frustrated." 

The word "sexual" out of Sherlock's mouth does things to John. Time to end this charade. John suddenly feels very calm. Into battle. "Sherlock," he begins cautiously, "I don't think you meant that. Um. Did you actually want me to make a pass at you?"

"Don't be absurd." Sherlock shoots back.

John does not let himself be put off. "I am beginning to think I am not. And it's fine. More than fine, really. For me at least." 

While John feels like a heavy weight has been lifted off his shoulders, Sherlock seems to have gone into shock for the second time today. He is standing there, rooted to the spot, an incredulous expression painted on his face. John decides to go in for the kill.

"Sherlock. I am officially going to make a pass at you now right now." John explains. "If you do not want this, you have five seconds to stop me." 

John notices a slight upwards twitch of Sherlock's lips before he resumes his frozen expression. John makes himself count back from five. Then he takes a step forward. "Alright. I am going to kiss you now." 

John mentally steels himself for a kick in the groin before he reaches up with his left hand to hold on to Sherlock's nape. He can't help threading his fingers through the curls he finds there. He meets no restraint when he is pulling down Sherlock's head. He slowly strokes over Sherlock's cheek with his right hand before he angles his head and stands on tiptoes to touch his lips to Sherlock's. 

What happens next is not exactly as John has planned. He finds his knees go weak at the realization of the events currently taking place. He is kissing Sherlock. Finally. After everything they have been through. John's world is spinning. He is about to faint from a kiss. How embarrassing. Luckily it does not come to that because a pair of strong arms has gone around his waist, holding him firmly in place, while Sherlock is kissing back with surprising enthusiasm. And he is making those amazing little noises. John is crushing Sherlock against him, deepening the kiss further.

After a few minutes of utter perfection Sherlock breaks the kiss and takes a step backwards. He is breathing heavily and looks somewhat out of his depth. 

"What's the matter? Are you alright?" John asks, worried that he has overstepped a line in his eagerness. 

"John, I ..." Sherlock begins but does not seem to find the words to finish the sentence. 

John takes a close look at Sherlock and tries to find out what's wrong. His eyes search Sherlock's flushed face, then move lower, where he finds a possible explanation. Sherlock's bespoke trousers are very ... revealing. There is a clearly visible bulge straining the front. It looks wonderfully obscene. John has to stop himself from falling down on his knees and burying his face there. John's already very interested cock threatens to make an appearance through the front of his dressing gown. However, in view of Sherlock's embarrassment, John rather decides to take a deep breath to calm himself. He looks Sherlock in the eye and waves his hand in the general direction of his crotch.

"Is it because of that?" he asks. "Are we going too fast?"

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock sounds almost desperate. "You probably wanted to start slow. But I can't seem to get my reactions under control. This just happened so quickly. And I'm almost about to... Just from a kiss. I will not last, I think. Surely you are used to higher standards."

Oh Sherlock. John's heart breaks a little. He finds Sherlock's insecurity somewhat endearing but still ... a bit not good. "Sherlock, stop it. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. If you want to know, I am in a similar state right now. But if you are uncomfortable and want to stop it's fine. And if you want to continue, we can continue. It does not matter if it's over in thirty seconds or if you come in your pants. Hell, if I were wearing any, I would be at a risk myself." Sherlock smiles at this.

"Okay?" John asks.

"Alight." Sherlock says.

John moves a step closer and runs his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "And by the way, Sherlock, this was not just a kiss. I am pretty sure the universe just came crashing down on us."

Sherlock chuckles and John feels like he is about to melt. And then Sherlock initiates the next kiss and the universe continues to crash down on them. John works a hand between them and cautiously cups the front of Sherlock's trousers. The wanton moan that comes as a response is almost his undoing. Time to move things forward. 

He pushes Sherlock towards the sofa and they sit down facing each other and kiss some more. John's hands start to explore Sherlock's back and torso. Sherlock seems to be too shy or too overwhelmed to reciprocate. It looks like he is completely lost in the sensation. John can barely believe his luck to be allowed to see this. After a while Sherlock slowly reclines on the sofa and pulls John on top of him. John very much approves of the change of position. He takes the opportunity to open the two top buttons of Sherlock's shirt and assaults his neck with his mouth. 

"John..." Sherlock moans and arches into the touch. Then a pair of large hands is squeezing John's arse and, god, it feels amazing. John, who is painfully hard by now, cannot help but rock his hips against Sherlock's body a few times. Sherlock responds to this by countering John's movements with his own hips. John looks at Sherlock's face and sees some hesitance there. Sherlock's eyes are silently asking him if he is doing fine. 

John realizes that Sherlock may need some more control over the situation. So he attempts to reverse their positions. It's somewhat tricky in the confined space of the sofa but somehow they manage and Sherlock ends up on top of John, kneeling between his legs. He still looks a bit clueless. John just smiles at him and leans up to place a tender kiss on Sherlock's mouth. 

"Do whatever feels best."

"Alright..." Sherlock says leaning forward and tentatively starts to rock against John. 

All John can manage is a breathy "Oh, god, yes" before they are both reduced to grunts. John lets himself get carried away for several moments but then he gets an idea. 

"Sherlock, please, one second..." he breathes. 

Sherlock stops immediately. 

"Is something wrong?" he asks, slightly worried. 

John needs a moment to control his breathing. "No, it's perfect. Really. But I think we can make it even better." 

He reaches for the button of Sherlock's trousers. 

"May I?"

Sherlock's face lights up with understanding. "Yes, yes." 

John loves the enthusiasm and goes to work. He pushes down the trousers as far as necessary and gently reaches into Sherlock's pants to uncover his erection. It's long and lean and rock-hard and wet and... 

"Beautiful." John says. 

Sherlock smiles and blushes slightly, then rolls his eyes in the back of his head when John slowly begins to stroke. What a sight. 

"Careful." Sherlock warns through gritted teeth. "I want to see you too." 

John complies and opens his dressing gown. His cock is leaking copiously onto his belly. Sherlock just stares in awe. 

"Like what you see?" John teases. 

Sherlock nods eagerly. "Yes." 

John grabs his face and kisses him. Then he slowly guides Sherlock down so that their cocks align. 

"Now do what you did before." John whispers. 

Sherlock does not waste a moment and starts moving. John feels electricity run through his body the first time their cocks slide along each other. 

"God, John." Sherlock moans. 

They quickly find a rhythm. John is halfway out of his mind with pleasure. The room is filled with urgent grunts and moans and the noise of two bodies moving together. And then Sherlock is there. John feels the wetness spread as Sherlock comes all over his belly. His mouth is open, his eyes squeezed shut. It's the most beautiful thing John has ever seen. The look on Sherlock's face is what dives John over the edge. The orgasm is so strong that he blacks out for a moment.

When his brain resumes its function John finds Sherlock curled up on top of him, his head hidden in the crook of John's neck. Sherlock's shirt is soaking up their combined ejaculate. How romantic. They are both trying to catch their breath. 

John is so happy he could cry. He can barely stop himself from throwing strings of romantic declarations at Sherlock. Oxytocin. From the way Sherlock is hiding his face, John suspects that he may be in a similar state. John thinks it might be a little too soon for such an outburst of emotion and contents himself with stroking Sherlock's back. 

They quietly hold on to each other for several minutes. 

"John?" Sherlock grumbles from his hiding place. 

"Hmmm?"

"We made a mess." 

John chuckles. "Yeah we did. Sorry about your shirt."

Sherlock lifts his head and looks at John. "I think I like the shirt better this way." 

John loses it and laughs out loud. Sherlock joins in and John pulls him close and kisses his hair. What a day!

The next morning John is having breakfast. He hasn't felt so full of energy in a long time, which is surprising, given the fact that he has barely slept last night. They have spent the night in Sherlock's bed. There were kisses and declarations and tears and blow jobs and a few unspeakable things that John can hardly believe they did on their first night together. John does not even try to wipe the dopey grin off his face. Across from him, a slightly debauched Sherlock is wolfing down his breakfast, which, as usual, makes John ridiculously happy. 

There is a knock at the kitchen door. John actually has to say "Come in." before Mrs. Hudson dares to enter the flat with a tray of freshly baked scones in her hands. 

"Good morning, dears." she says cheerfully. "I thought you might want some more breakfast." 

Sherlock turns and looks up at her. "You heard us." he states matter-of-factly. 

John can't get himself to be embarrassed. He is actually rather proud of himself.

"I did." Mrs. Hudson says. "And look at me politely ignoring it."


End file.
